


A Kit's Nightmare

by Idhren15



Series: The Blood You Hate [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Blood, Blood and Injury, Captivity, Collars, Conditioning, Dads of Marmora (Voltron), Dehumanization, Electrocution, Eventual Comfort, Evil Lotor (Voltron), Galra Keith (Voltron), Gen, Hurt Keith (Voltron), I hope, I'm Sorry, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) Needs a Hug, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Keith (Voltron)-centric, Kit Keith, Lotor is a Creep, Mild torture, Muzzles, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Sexual Slavery, PLEASE HEED THE TAGS, Prisoner Keith (Voltron), Protective Antok, Protective Kolivan, Protective Thace, Protective Ulaz, References to Drugs, Slave Keith (Voltron), Thace is Krolia's baby bro, This Is Not A Happy Fic Folks, Touch-Starved Keith (Voltron), Uncle Thace, Whipping, it makes things worse, keith has kit instincts, nooo why is that a tag, though we don't see it too much here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-08 19:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18901249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idhren15/pseuds/Idhren15
Summary: Keith knew he shouldn't have gone on that mission alone.Then he wouldn't have ended up in Lotor's clutches...."It behaves now, doesn't it?""Yes. Yes it does. It has learnt its place."Lotor touches him- no,it- and it leans into the prince's hand.Yes, he-it- it is good....It sits through the silence, drifting into a world of colour, a world where it is ahimand he isKeithandKeithis a strong fighter.But it cannot beKeith,becauseKeithis strong, fierce, independent, free.It is none of those things.It cannot beKeith,becauseKeithis gone....(Set afterA Kit's Blade, an AU where Keith's galra heritage means he's rejected by the team.)





	1. Entering This Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> What's this? Me writing another fic instead of doing work?  
>  ~~whoops~~
> 
> Well I know I'm overdue an update on _A Kit's Blade_ but I had this idea and it just wouldn't leave me alone!
> 
> So, uh, here. 
> 
> Warning: this is not a happy fic. There's non-con touching (nothing sexual though), use of collars, muzzles, drugs, etc.  
> I'll increase the rating if you think it needs it. 
> 
> Lotor might be a little OOC but I always saw him as a bit of a creep. Sorry. 
> 
> Anyways... Here you go! Another fic!
> 
> Edit: Did I say two parts? Whoops. Looks like there's gonna be a third XD

Kolivan warned him against the mission.

It was a solo quest, infiltrating the heart of the Empire. Far too risky for one with his training, but he was foolish and reckless and too damn stubborn, going behind his leader's back without a second thought.

  

And that is when, four vargas later, he finds himself desperately running from two of Lotor's generals, a gaping wound in his shoulder slowing him down significantly, and no hope of rescue. The Blades don't know he's gone. The paladins- well, they stopped caring about him long ago, they wouldn't come.

It was just him, against the fury of the generals.

And quiznak, were they good.

He underestimated the slim, pink one; she is a formidable opponent, always sneaking up on him just when he feels like he's gaining the upper hand. Her friend, a much larger half-galra, is the one responsible for the hole in his shoulder.

He can't keep this up. They know this, as much as he does.

In one last, desperate sprint, he enters the hangar and throws the chip with the intel, along with a distress beacon, both embedding themselves in the hull of a galran fighter that is set to leave. Keith exhales, praying to whatever force out there that somebody will find the data amongst the inevitable wreckage of the fighter, then a sharp pain across the back of his knees brings him back to the situation.

His face connects with the ground, nose cracking on the unforgiving metal, sending blood streaming into his mouth. Gasping, he tries to get up only to have his hood pulled roughly and his head slammed into the ship's hard floor again. Stars ignite in his vision, then the world goes black.

  

When light trickles in again, there isn't much of it, and Keith becomes very quickly aware of the pain thrumming through his body. His shoulder and nose sting like hell; his wrists and ankles ache, too, the pain increasing as he tries to move. Blearily he forces his eyes open, taking in his surroundings, and curses.

He's in a cell, hands cuffed together behind him, ankles linked and chained to a metal ring on the ground. A quick glance at his shoulder shows that the fabric has been cut away and the wound is bandaged; then he realises, with horror, that the entirety of his suit is missing. He's lying in nothing but a pair of thin shorts, the bruises from all his fights creating an odd canvas on his purple chest. He's still not used to the colour, or the claws at his fingertips, or the sensitive ears pinned to his head, or the tail swishing in agitation behind him.

But now is not the time to think of those things, to hate the druid for what has happened.

Now, he has to figure a way out of here.

As if his captors read his mind, the cell door opens then, revealing none other than Prince Lotor himself. He glides in, flanked by the two generals who apprehended Keith in the first place. Keith glares at them with a fury, the emotion fading slightly as he tries to scowl at Lotor.

He doesn't like the expression in the prince's eyes.

Lotor crouches down in front of him, one elegantly clawed hand reaching out to seize his face, tilting his head in an almost gentle manner. Keith tries to resist, but the prince is too strong.

"Interesting," he muses, "A half-breed whose traits were forced into dominance. I sense the druids had a part to play. Am I correct?"

Keith simply glares at him.

Lotor tuts and releases his face, but does not remove his gaze. "It's a shame, really, that those traitorous galra have such a hold on you. You're a pretty kit," he comments, reaching out again.

Keith's muscles finally respond, pushing him back as far as the chain will allow, a growl escaping his throat. "Don't touch me," he snaps.

Lotor laughs. "I do like a fiery spirit! It would be a shame to waste it. So I'm going to make you an offer." He tilts his head, examining.

Keith remains quiet, not taking the bait.

The prince pauses a few moments more, but does not get frustrated at Keith's silence. "You can serve beside me, as one of my generals. A half-breed like you would do well within my ranks-"

"No," Keith growls, "I won't. I won't serve you."

"Oh?" Lotor cocks an immaculate eyebrow, "Why so fast to respond?"

Keith's fists clench in their cuffs. "I stand with the Blade, and with Voltron. I won't see your Empire continue, and I certainly won't have a part in it."

Lotor's smile disappears. "Is that so?" He straightens up, looking down on Keith. "I'd heard a rumour about a galra paladin who was kicked out of Voltron. They don't care for you, clearly."

Keith grits his teeth. "But I still care for them. And there's no way in this universe I'll stand beside you!" he spits out the last part, tail lashing behind him.

The prince's eyes darken, their yellow sclera gleaming. "Shame," he hisses, "I wanted you by me of your own choice. But as you won't stand, I'll make you _kneel._ "

Keith's blood runs cold. "What?" he manages to ask, his tail falling limp as a sudden fear seizes him.

Lotor grins. "Or perhaps, I'll just have you sit beside me. After all, you _are_ a very pretty kit."

Before Keith can process his words, the skin at the back of his neck tingles and he realises too late that he's lost sight of the pink one. Not a tick later, something cold clamps around his neck: a collar, he notes dimly, watching frozen as the second general approaches with a metal contraption in her hand.

_No, no, please, no..._

He tries to move, tries to scream, but a chain on the collar keeps him in place and the metal slips into his mouth, his canines barely denting the surface as the rest of the muzzle is fastened over his face, its tight bands pressing on his nose and his chin and his cheeks. The scream dies in his throat and he struggles to think, he's collared and muzzled and the look in Lotor's eyes make him feel so _sick_ -

The large one halls him to his feet, her thick hand wrapped around the short chain attached to his collar, as the pink general disconnects his ankle cuffs from the ring in the floor. Lotor's gone, then, and they're taking him somewhere; he knows he should pay attention, but his heart is pounding in his ears, almost drowning out everything else.

"He really should've accepted the offer," the pink one quips.

"Well he didn't, Ezor, so focus on the task now," the larger general huffs.

Ezor's practically bouncing as he's led along, hands itching to try and force the contraption off his face, as it's already digging in to his skin and paining him. She seems to notice this, a small frown appearing on her too-youthful face.

"Zethrid, don't you think it's a little tight?" she asks.

The one leading him- Zethrid, presumably- just shrugs. "Lotor said to do it tight if he didn't accept. Tough, kit. You _had_ to do this the hard way."

Keith glares at her and earns a hard tug that almost sends him sprawling, if it wasn't for his tail shooting out behind him, helping him to keeps his balance.

"Impressive," Ezor whistles, and her relaxed mannerisms almost relax him, too, until he remembers the situation he's in.

He can't break free, yet, but he's not truly their captive. Putting a muzzle and a collar on won't subdue him, he decides. Sure, they've really shaken him up, but with each step he feels some of his energy returning.

He can do this. He can get out of there. Someone will get his signal and-

"Keith." Lotor practically purrs his name, and he almost jumps as the sudden reappearance of the prince. A growl rises in his throat, severely muffled but enough of it gets through to Lotor's sensitive ears.

"Why so feral? It really doesn't suit you," he comments, "But this will." The darkness in his eyes gleams as he gestures to something beside him. Keith blinks, only now noticing that they've entered another room, with a small table beside the prince. On it lie silky, red garments that immediately send Keith's pulse skyrocketing.

_No. Not happening._

He shakes his head, ignoring the chafing of the collar against his neck as he does so.

Lotor's grin widens. "Ah, Keith, you brought this on your self. Now, either you change, or I make you." He snaps his fingers and the cuffs separate, allowing Keith to bring both his arms forward. He stares at the gold cuffs wrapped around his wrists, seemingly melded into his skin, the edges of them sparking from where a strange magic forced them together. They look more decorative than restrictive, though, and that frightens him more.

With his hands free, he immediately twists, yanking the chain from Zethrid's grip and swinging his fists at Ezor. But Lotor simply clicks his fingers and Keith's hands are brought together again, with an electric shock that leaves him gasping on the ground.

"The hard way it is, then," Lotor sighs. Zethrid hauls him to his feet, lifting him up as the prince steps forward, seizing the thin trousers and forcibly sliding them up Keith's legs. He shudders at the touch, trying to push away but his captors are just too _strong,_ and the hands against his skin are weakening him in a way he hates. Then his arms are separated, only to have more bands shoved on them - one just below each shoulder, as thick and gold as the cuffs on his wrists - followed by a thin, jacket-like garment, with sleeves down to his elbows and two front panels that don't meet, leaving most of his chest bare. He shivers at the touches and the unfamiliar fabric against his skin, beginning to dread the worst.

His hands are pulled behind his back, cuffs snapping together yet again, but without the shock this time. Lotor exits the room and he has no choice but to follow, his chain- his _leash_ \- in the prince's hands now.

Then they enter the largest room yet, and Keith's fears fully set in.

It's a throne room, there's no denying it. The piece of furniture in the middle is a dead giveaway: a solid throne, up high, with a mountain of steps surrounding it. But it's the other features that Keith notices. Like the sentries stationed around, the multiple hidden exits, the chairs ready waiting for any meetings the Emperor may have.

Like the cushion resting beside the throne, reminiscent of a dog's bed back on Earth.

The sickness in Keith's stomach grows, and he digs his heels in as one last desperate attempt. Lotor merely huffs in irritation and brandishes a needle which he sticks into Keith's neck, just below the collar. Immediately his body goes limp, muscles refusing to respond, letting Zethrid drag him up the steps to set him on that dreaded cushion. He's positioned to sit there, legs crossed, hands neatly resting in his lap, their cuffs unconnected once more. The leash is chained to the left arm of the throne, reinforcing his captivity.

Keith wants to scream, but the muzzle stops him. He wants to move, to _fight,_ but whatever was in that needle has taken his body from him. It's not _his_ anymore.

He can do nothing as Lotor and the generals mould him like a doll, brushing his hair, tilting his head slightly to the side, even curling his tail so it rests by his left knee, unmoving.

Lotor steps back then, surveying him as if he is an object, not a person. "Beautiful," the prince remarks, "But it's missing a few things." He takes a large, red bandana and ties it over the bottom half of Keith's face, hiding the ghastly muzzle. All the while Keith watches him with eyes wide in both hatred and fear, his body _still_ refusing to respond to him.

The prince crouches down to meet his gaze properly. "Last chance, pretty kit. Join me as a soldier; or join me as a pet."

Keith says nothing- how can he, when he is muzzled and his body won't even let him nod or shake his head? But his eyes must convey his hatred enough as Lotor sighs, disappointed.

"Such a pretty kit, but your eyes let you down. They're too harsh," he notes, turning to grab something from Ezor. It's metal- gold, like the cuffs and the collar- but is shaped in a manner that reminds Keith of a masquerade mask. The metal curves out slightly, as if to rest on the bridge of a nose, and the design on the front is very beautiful; all curves and ribbons of a deep red running through the gold.

It _is_ a mask, Keith realises then, as Lotor turns back to him.

But it's a mask with no holes for the eyes.

Keith _whines,_ a purely galran sound that makes the prince hesitate for a moment. But then his hair is lifted, a metal band fitted to the back of his skull, held in waiting to fit against another piece, one that is drawing closer to his face.

_No,_ he wants to say, he wants to _beg_ now because he can't do this, he can't lose his voice and his body and his sight, it's too much, it's _too much..._

He locks gazes with Lotor, trying desperately to convey his pleas, but the prince's eyes are still cold.

And they're the last thing he sees before the metal clips into place, gold turning to darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Oof.
> 
> I'm sorry ;-; 
> 
> Erm... 
> 
> Comments always welcome! ^-^
> 
> Seriously though, thank you so much for reading! ^-^
> 
>  
> 
> ~~now i really need to do some work oops XD~~


	2. Stuck In This Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Look who's written more instead of doing work *facepalms* XD
> 
> This chapter's pretty dark though. Warning for dehumanization and mild torture. ~~I'm sorry Keith...!~~

Time passes, and Keith begins to lose himself.

 

The first few days, he's stuck in his body, unable to move from the position he was placed in due to the drugs coursing through his system. At first he fights it, straining to listen to everything going on around him, testing his muscles ever so often, refusing to let his mind drift asleep even though he's absolutely exhausted.

The only advantage of the drugs, he thinks, is that all the pain is gone.

He doesn't want to drift, but his eyes slip shut and before he knows it he's waking up to the sound of an argument around him, ears flattening to his skull at the sheer volume.

"We can't risk it! He's a fighter!" a female yells, the voice unfamiliar.

"I won't have _it_ wither away either," Lotor retorts smoothly.

The female huffs. "Just stick him on a drip. That solves the problem."

"But it's unsightly, Acxa. Besides, we must take _some_ care of the little kit."

Keith's tail swishes in agitation, then freezes as the meaning of the motion sets in; the drugs are wearing off. Though exhausted and weak, he tries clenching his fists, a thrill surging through him when his body obeys.

"Ah," Lotor notes, "It's awake."

His ears flicker, trying to pinpoint the prince's location from sound alone, and he attempts to move backwards but his limbs are still sluggish and his movements are halted by a jolt on his neck.

"Not so fast," Lotor hums, "I have something for you." Hands touch the slither of skin that is still exposed on his face, reaching behind his head to unclasp something, and Keith _breathes_ again as the horrid metal is taken off his mouth. His nose, cheeks, and teeth all sting, but he doesn't care, too relieved that he can breathe properly again.

He can also _talk_ again.

Words rise in his throat, but Lotor presses a finger over his lips. "Quiet, wagsza. You don't have permission to speak." The finger leaves, something else being pressed in its place: _water,_ Keith notes dimly, opening his mouth to let the liquid through, soothing his throat. He hadn't even _noticed_ the soreness of his parched throat with the drugs in his veins, and that scares him.

"Good wagsza," Lotor soothes, patting Keith's head as if he is a pet, an animal.

_I'm not. I'm not a pet, I'm a PERSON. I have to get free._

He stops drinking, instead pulling away with as much force as he can muster, adrenaline finally forcing a response from his muscles. The chain from his collar is restrictive, so his hands fly up to try and break it out, because he _has_ to get free, he can't stay here-

Electricity surges through his veins, and he screams, falling back onto the cushion again.

"Stupid kit," Lotor hisses as Keith writhes, "You're not going anywhere. This is your life now." He leans closer, a hand clamping over Keith's mouth to muffle the cries of pain. "You are _nothing_ now. You are _no-one_. You are simply a warning of what happens to those who refuse me."

The electricity finally let up, and Keith bit his lip to prevent the sobs escaping.

"Drug him again," Lotor commands, and Keith barely winces as the needle pierces his skin and the metal is fixed over his mouth again. He thinks his body is being moulded again, but he's so numb, he can't tell.

"We are going to keep this up," Lotor murmurs in his ear, "until you stop fighting."

 _I'll never stop fighting,_ Keith thinks.

But with his body taken from him again, he can't be so sure.

 

The muzzle is taken off a few days later, more water given to him, and something edible pressed into his hand. Part of him wants to refuse, but he's so _hungry_ that he relents, tentatively biting into the food. It's sweet and juicy, like watermelon, but he only manages a few bites before his stomach rolls, nausea surging through him.

"Seems like the fruit is too nice for it," Lotor laughs, "Eat this up, wagsza."

The fruit is snatched from Keith's hand and he is pushed forward, his nose knocking against a bowl of something on the ground. Humiliation colours his cheeks and he shakes his head.

"No," he whispers, the word cracking on his lips.

" _Eat_ ," Lotor growls, his hand suddenly on Keith's neck, pushing his mouth into the bowl of slop. Keith chokes at first, struggling under Lotor's grip, but the prince holds him down firmly. Reluctantly he swallows, grimacing at the taste. It's bland and sludgy, like cold porridge, and he really doesn't want to eat it. Especially not from a bowl on the floor.

But Lotor's hand does not let up, and eventually his hunger takes over, consuming the entire contents of the bowl.

"Good wagsza." The hand moves and he sits up, stiffening as Lotor wipes his mouth and nose with a cloth. But the touch is gentle, and he finds himself leaning into it, craving the contact.

The prince just laughs and moves away, a small whine escaping Keith's mouth at the loss of touch.

"Not yet," Lotor whispers, "You haven't earnt the touch yet."

Then the muzzle is replaced, the drugs pumped into his system again, and he drifts.

 

They fall into a routine. When the drugs start to wear off, his muzzle is removed, and he is given food and water. The latter is poured into his mouth, while he is forced to eat the former from a bowl on the ground.

If he obeys, he is rewarded with a soft comment of "good wagsza," usually from Lotor, but sometimes from one of the other generals. If he resists, he is shocked, the severity of the electrocution depending on the amount of his refusal.

One time he tries to speak, to ask Lotor to please let him have his sight back. The answer is a slap to the face, harsh words stinging his ears, and electricity so strong he passes out from the pain. When he wakes up again, the drugs are not yet in his system, but his body is moulded anyway, arms crying out with pain, legs aching as he is forced into the worst position yet before they finally inject him.

He doesn't try to speak again.

 

He drifts, and he forgets.

 

The drugs are pumped into his system less and less. He doesn't need them anymore. He knows what he has to do.

He must sit and obey.

If he moves when he's not told, he gets hurt.

If he obeys, he is rewarded.

"Good wagsza."

A hand in his hair, on his cheek, even on his lips when he is allowed to eat.

He craves the touch, so he obeys.

 

"It behaves now, doesn't it?"

"Yes. Yes it does. It has learnt its place."

"I'm impressed."

"So am I." Lotor chuckles slightly. "It is a good wagsza, a very good little wagsza."

Lotor touches him- no, _it_ \- and it leans into the prince's hand.

Yes, he- _it_ \- it is good.

 

"Who is that?" someone asks during one of the many meetings that the prince holds in his throne room.

" _It_ is my little wagsza," Lotor answers proudly, "Once a feral beast, but it is mine now."

His hand reaches out to touch its hair, and it whines through its muzzle, leaning into the touch.

"It is very beautiful," the stranger continues.

"Yes it is," the prince agrees, "A pretty wagsza."

It is pleased at the compliment, and sits up a little straighter, hoping it is doing what its master wants.

But the hand leaves, and once the meeting is over, pain tears through its body.

"Did I give you permission to move?" Lotor hisses, "Did I say you could make noise?"

It shakes its head.

"Bad wagsza," he snaps, "Lie there, and don't move until I say so."

It obeys.

 

The wagsza lives a simple life- if that's even what it is. It is told it is nothing, yet the prince calls it 'wagsza'. Is that its name? It isn't sure.

It used to have a name once, but it can't remember.

It used to see the light, too, but it had that taken from it long ago.

It mustn't make a sound, mustn't move, not unless its master commands.

It just has to sit and obey.

It sits through the meetings, all the words going over its head.

It sits through the silence, drifting into a world of colour, a world where it is a _him_ and he is _Keith_ and Keith is a _strong fighter._

But it cannot be _Keith_ , because _Keith_ is strong, fierce, independent, _free_.

It is none of those things.

It cannot be _Keith_ , because _Keith_ is gone.

 

It never listens to the words spoken at its master's meetings, but today, it is paying attention.

Today, it _hears_ the words. It recognises the voices.

"Ah, paladins." Its master's words ring clear and true. "I am so glad you agreed to talk with me."

"Cut the crap, Lotor. What is it that you want?"

_It knows that voice._

"So rude! I want peace, as do you," the prince answers.

"On what terms?"

_It knows that voice too._

A loud huff from one of the visitors. "I don't trust him. Let's just go already!"

_It knows that voice as well! How does it know these voices?_

"Pidge-"

_Pidge. The green paladin. Katie Holt. Fun, sarcastic, tech genius-_

It- no, not it, _he_ \- gasps, though no sound comes out. _Pidge_ is here.

And Lance.

And Hunk.

And _Shiro_.

It- he- _Keith-_ stops drifting and comes back again, a warmth in his chest that he hasn't felt before. It- he- remembers who he is.

He's Keith Kogane, former Red Paladin, member of the Blade of Marmora.

He's not a 'wagsza', not an 'it'.

How long has he been living in that daze?

He has to get out; this is his chance.

Keith doesn't pay much attention to _why_ the paladins are there, or _what_ they are saying. Lotor is distracted, so he moves slowly, trying to figure out where he is in proximity to the paladins. Then, tentatively, he lifts a hand and waves.

Someone gasps.

"What is _that_?" Lance exclaims.

_It's me. It's Keith. I know you don't like me anymore... but please, help me. Rescue me._

He waves again, then reaches into his memory for a language he used to know, and signs his name.

_K-E-I-T-H._

_K-E-I-T-H._

_K-E-I-T-H._

_Help me._

"It is my wagsza," Lotor answers hurriedly, "A pet. It was given to me during the making of a treaty."

Keith shakes his head, then stops as a shock of electricity sears his veins, enough to make him freeze up.

"What is a wagsza?" he hears Lance whisper.

"Dog. It is galran for dog," Allura answers.

Keith feels sick.

"Now, come this way," Lotor commands, "I would love to give you a tour of this ship. Perhaps you will be more open to a treaty once you see the good I have done?"

"Perhaps," Allura responds.

 _No! No, don't leave me!_ Keith tries to move, but the hairs on the back of his neck stand up just as someone injects him with the drugs, leaving him as useless as the first day of his capture.

"What about the wagsza?" Hunk enquires.

"It's just his pet, isn't it? There's nothing we _can_ do," Shiro says.

"But it looks familiar-"

"It's an animal, Hunk. Leave it."

_No, no... Shiro, please, can't you see, it's me? It's Keith? Shiro Shiro Shiro Hunk Lance Allura Pidge **please**..._

But their footsteps fade, leaving him behind.

He didn't know he had any hope left, until he felt it die.

"Lotor won't be pleased with you for that little show," Acxa hisses in his ear, "You'll regret it, wagsza."

She injects him again, and he fades into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~so so sorry~~ ;-;
> 
> Credit for _'wagsza'_ goes to SilenceIsGolden15! 
> 
> Some good news: this isn't the final part. I said this was just going to be 2 parts but this bit was so heavy I decided to make it 3 parts instead!
> 
> Next part _will_ have comfort :)
> 
> Comments are quintessence; they fuel me! ^-^


	3. Saved From This Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final part guys! :D
> 
> Hope you enjoy ^-^
> 
> Warning for mild torture beginning of this chapter.
> 
> Edit: I've decided this is going to be in the Kit's Blade universe, & as a result I'm changing the timeframe ever so slightly. It doesn't impact the story much though!

When he drifts awake again, it is to the same darkness that always greets him. Dimly he wonders if he'll ever get his sight back, when the most recent events come crashing down.

 _The paladins._ They came, but they didn't recognise him. They didn't help him. They didn't save him.

 _Maybe they deliberately left me,_ he thinks, _Maybe I really am nothing, just as Lotor says. Just his wagsza, not even a person._

He's amazed that he even _can_ still think, though his memories are hazy and he knows he's been drifting far too long.

But maybe there is some sense in this. He was never truly wanted. 

Long before the paladins rejected him, he was rejected by everyone else. His mum left. His dad's friends- who had become his friends, too- left after the funeral. Foster parents upon foster parents upon foster parents came and went, some leaving scars, some just giving up on him.

_Orphan._

_Discipline case._

_Failure._

_Worthless._

_Nothing._

_Wagsza._

  

It is quite a while before Lotor returns; Keith knows, because the drugs are beginning to wear off and his body is screaming its protests. Ignoring the pain, he shifts slightly, finding that he's still on that awful cushion, still chained to the throne.

At least, he assumes that's where he is. 

Footsteps sound then, ones he's come to associate with _master-_ no, not master. _Lotor._

"Ah, the little wagsza awakens," Lotor chimes, "I thought it had learnt its lesson. Didn't you, Ezor?" 

"Mhmm," the general hums, "It behaved so well up until now."

"Indeed. I was starting to grow rather fond of it." Suddenly there is a hand in Keith's hair, and though he wants to flinch away, his body disobeys; instead, he melts under the touch, curling in towards Lotor. The prince laughs, continuing to stroke his hair.

"Maybe not so troublesome, after all," he whispers, "You took so long to tame, wagsza. I'd hate to undo all our good work."

_Good work?_

A sudden fury shoots through Keith and he clenches his fists before he can think. Immediately the hand tightens in his hair, claws digging into his scalp.

"So," Lotor hisses, "It _is_ misbehaving. Stupid wagsza." His tone turns dark and there is a rattling of chains before Keith is suddenly, violently, pulled to his feet. He stumbles, legs weak and unused to bearing his weight, but he is still hauled forwards, down the steps and away from the throne in the first time since...

Since...

He can't remember when.

"Why are you taking him away?" Ezor whines. 

"I don't want to mess up my throne," Lotor answers and Keith's blood runs cold.

Part of him launches into a panic, sending him drifting again.

_No no no bad wagsza! Not supposed to move without master saying!_

It was going to get hurt now, really hurt, its master was mad because it didn't obey and-

No, not it. _He. Keith._

It- _Keith_ \- manages to take enough control of his body to not stumble as he is pulled along relentlessly, Lotor seeming to purposefully walk at such distance that a constant strain is placed on Keith's neck. When they do stop, it is so sudden that Keith falls over, his head smacking into the ground. Dizzy, he tries to get up but a foot is placed on his back, heavy and booted.

"Lie there, wagsza," Lotor commands. 

Keith, stupidly, tries to get up anyway. 

And then there is _pain,_ starting in his spine and shrieking through his veins, sending his body into agonising spasms. He struggles to get enough air through the muzzle, then realises that perhaps he is _meant_ to pass out. 

"Wagsza!" Lotor is screaming, "You are nothing! No one! You belong to me! You are my pet, my wagsza! Not a person, just an it!"

There is more, but he faints before he can hear it.

  

There is pressure on his hands, pain shooting through his arms as they are forced above his head, pulling him back to consciousness with the shock of the motion. He's kneeling, hands raised: shackled above him, he presumes.

With horror, he realises his back is bare and exposed.

"So." Lotor's voice creeps into his ear, sending shivers down his aching spine, "You started trying to come back, did you? Keith is _dead_ , little wagsza. You're not him."

He shakes his head.

"You are _not_ Keith," the prince repeats, "You're no one, remember?" The slight sneer in his tone is the only warning Keith receives before a whip cracks across his back, striking agony into the skin.

"Keith is dead."

_Crack._

"You are not Keith."

_Crack._

"You are no one."

_Crack._

"You are nothing."

_Crack._

"You are my pet."

_Crack._

"You are not a person."

_Crack._

"You are just an it."

_Crack._

"You are my wagsza."

_Crack._

Keith heaves, gasping and gagging in the muzzle, slumping forward as his back screams its protests, heart thumping in time with Lotor's cold words.

 _I'm not his pet,_ he thinks, but he knows he's only lying to himself. Lotor controls most of him. 

He's been chained like a dog for who-knows how long.

_You are a pet._

He feels himself slipping again.

_No, no! I... I am a person!_

Conversations drift into his mind. 

_"It has learnt its place."_

"It is my little wagsza." 

_"It's just his pet."_

_"It's an animal, Hunk. Leave it."_

Tears well in his eyes, having nowhere to go due to the metal covering them, but his whine does slip through the muzzle. 

_I'm not just an 'it', I can't be, I... I'm a person..._

Lotor strokes his hair, claws running through the sweat-streaked locks. "Poor wagsza," he purrs, "Don't you understand? You only mean something to _me._ You're worthless to everyone else. The paladins came, but they left you." 

_I know,_ Keith thinks. 

"They left you," Lotor continues, "even though they knew who you once were. I told them." 

Keith's heart stutters. 

"I told them, but they don't want you. They understand everything you don't." His voice grows quieter, but it is because of distance, and Keith tenses as he hears the flutter of a whip in the air. 

"Coran says Keith is dead." 

_Crack._

"Lance says you're not Keith." 

_Crack._

"Pidge says you're no one." 

_Crack._

"Allura says you're nothing." 

_Crack._

"Hunk says you're my pet." 

_Crack._

"Shiro says you're not a person." 

_Crack._

"They all say you're just an it." 

_Crack._

"And they are right, _wagsza._ " 

  

The lashes cease and the shackles are undone before Lotor turns and walks away, leaving the wagsza collapsed on the ground, shaking with an agony that is both physical and emotional. It struggles to breathe, eyes stinging with tears, slowly weakening as the wounds on its back stain the cell floor. It is _bad_ ; it only has to _obey_ but it couldn't even do that. It is so _worthless_ and _stupid._ It longs for its master, for the gentle touches it craves, or even the few things it finds comforting, like the cushion it sits on or the familiarity of its chain. The chain is still there, but it is not tied to anything, and the cushion is gone, leaving the wagsza on a cold hard ground. 

It has been bad, so it must've been left here to die. 

It knows it deserves this, though. It has never been good enough. 

It tried so hard, before, when it was a person. But those that knew its person-self hated it and pushed it away. 

It knows, too, that it shouldn't be giving in. It found itself once before; it can't just drift again. 

But it doesn't have the energy to fight, doesn't have a purpose. There is no one that cares now- 

"Kit?" 

_Wait._

But no! Its master said it didn't have anyone, no one cares- 

A low rumble cuts through its confusion and suddenly warmth seeps through its body and it is cradled in someone's arms. It whines and curls into the embrace, hissing as the movement aggravates its back. 

"Shh, kit. Steady. I've got you," Thace rumbles. 

"I'm going to murder that bastard prince," Antok growls. 

"Not if I get my hands on him first," Kolivan states. 

"Or I get _my_ hands on him," Ulaz adds. 

The kit whimpers, confused at the noise and the familiarity. 

Then for the second time that movement, it- _he_ \- comes back to himself. 

The muzzle is pulled from his face just in time for him to brokenly whisper, "Thace?" 

His uncle rumbles and nuzzles his cheek. "Yes, kit, it's me." 

Keith coughs, trying to remember how to speak again. "H-he... Master... Lotor said..." 

"Lotor told you lies," Antok says with a strong conviction, "Nothing of what he said is true, Keith." 

"B-but-" 

"Sorry kit, but we have to go," Kolivan interrupts, "Antok?" 

"I've got him." Keith whines in pain as he's transferred from Thace's arms to Antok's, his back still singing its agony. 

But for the first time in a long time, he starts to feel _safe_ and _loved_ again. 

His pride came for him. 

_His pride came for him._

  

Once they're all on the ship headed back to base, the stories start to come out. 

"We looked for you for phoebs," Thace practically sobs, "All we could find was your blade and your suit." 

"None of us considered Lotor would have you in plain sight," Antok admits. 

Keith grimaces as Ulaz tends to his back. "D-didn't expect you to," he rasps, "The p-paladins..." 

"Are the ones who made this possible," Kolivan states. 

Keith freezes up. "W-what?" 

"It was the yellow one," Ulaz explains, "He contacted us yester-quintant. He wasn't sure if it was you, or another galra kit. But either way, we had to launch a rescue." 

"Hunk," Keith breathes, warmth filling the void in his chest. 

_Then Lotor lied?_

Hands gently touch the mask on his face. "How long has this been on?" Ulaz enquires. 

"Since... start," Keith slurs, exhaustion finally slamming down on him. 

"No kit, stay with me," Thace urges. 

There is a tightness around his head, then the mask is gone, swiftly replaced with a soft fabric. He whines when he opens his eyes to still only see darkness. 

"We need to treat your eyes back at the base," Ulaz swiftly explains, "Sudden exposure to light could permanently blind you." 

Keith nods, though most of the words go over his tired head apart from four: 

_Back at the base._

"M' goin' home?" 

Thace purrs and holds him closer. "Yes, Keith. You're coming home." 

Keith smiles, relaxing in his uncle's arms. 

_Home. I'm coming home._

_I'm not a wagsza anymore._

_I'm not Lotor's pet._

_I'm Keith Kogane, Blade of Marmora._

_And my pride care for me._

  

Thace glances down at the kit in his arms, careful not to jostle him as he sets to work removing the collar and cuffs. It could be done at the base, he knows, but he hates seeing those marks of captivity on his kit. 

_Four phoebs._ It has been _four phoebs._

They found the data after three movements, but no sign of the kit. Another search through a damaged ship brought the discovery of his blade and suit, a phoeb and a half after his disappearance. 

They mourned, but they couldn't dedicate all their time to looking. The Blades were stretched thin; as much as it pained them, they couldn't spare agents to search for a kit who'd gone on an extremely dangerous mission. 

Thace had never stopped hoping, never got rid of any of Keith's belongings. 

Then they'd received contact from the yellow paladin, of all people. 

"I saw something, when we met with Lotor," the yellow paladin said nervously, "It was galra, I think. Looked quite young, probably a kit? But it was all dressed up and chained to Lotor's throne. He said it was a pet- wagsza, I think, he called it. But I'm not sure." His voice dropped slightly. "It... It looked a bit like Keith." 

Kolivan had wasted no more time in planning an immediate extraction, and all of Keith's pride were desperate to go. Regris and Valta only stayed behind because Kolivan insisted six was too large a team. Four was pushing the boundaries, really. 

But Ulaz had to come for medical support, Antok for the muscle, and there was no way in the universe that Thace would be left behind. 

He looks down at Keith again, warmth and anguish twisting in his chest. He is so happy to have his kit, but he knows that Keith won't be completely alright. 

The kit spent months as a pet, as something less than a person. 

Thace knows they'll have to rebuild his identity. 

But that's okay. It's another challenge up ahead, like fixing the kit's eyes after being trapped in the dark for so long. 

All that matters, right in this moment, is that Keith is safe. He's with them, and he is _alive._

And Lotor is _never_ going to touch their kit again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This was a pretty tough one to write!
> 
>  
> 
> ~~and I wrote it instead of doing work, oops~~
> 
>  
> 
> I hope to update Kit's Blade in the next fortnight or so! 
> 
> Also, do you guys think this needs a higher rating? Let me know in the comments! 
> 
> Feedback is always welcome ^-^
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!!


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